


The Last Walk

by Sira



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 20:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sira/pseuds/Sira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill Adama doesn't want to bury the woman he loves. Post Daybreak II fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Walk

**Author's Note:**

> All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Thanks a lot to ufp13 for looking this over! You rock, hon. All remaining mistakes are mine!

It was quiet, too quiet; the only noises were the wind outside, his own breathing inside. That was all the sound there was: his own breathing inside the narrow raptor.

He knew what he had to do, but found he couldn’t do it. He had to, but didn’t want to. How could he? How could he carry her body out of the raptor, to find a place for her to rest? How could he give her up?

To look at her familiar body, knowing it didn’t hold any life any longer, it was an unbearable thought, nearly took his breath away. It might still be her looks, but the spirit of Laura was gone.

Gone was her warmth, her laughter, her love. Gone was her fierce spirit, her temper, her stubbornness. Gone. She shouldn’t be dead. Why her? Why had the cancer take her away from him? It was wrong. Everything was wrong now; nothing could it make right again.

He looked over at her, at her face, so peaceful in death. This was the body he had worshipped, explored, made love to. Now, he would never have the chance to cradle her close again. Laura, his Laura had passed away.  
He could grasp the concept; at least his mind could, even when his heart was rejecting the truth.

To never smell her again, to hear her hum in pleasure, to never see her eyes sparkle with life again; disjointed thoughts were haunting his mind, kept him rooted to the spot, her cooling hand still in his. Laura had been the one who had made him feel whole again, even if he hadn’t thought it possible for many years. Now he was torn, would remain torn for the rest of his days.

He took a ragged breath, realised that silent tears were running down his cheeks. They might dry eventually, but his heart would cry forever.

He got up, his knees creaking, his body stiff. To let go of Laura, if only for a second, was an act of will, but to get himself to move was even more so. He was exhausted, broken, didn’t have enough strength left. It didn’t matter, it never did; he couldn’t give up. It was something he had promised her – to go on, to live his life until it was his turn. A dangerous thing to promise. She had known he wouldn’t want to, had pressed it from him in a moment of vulnerability when they had been lying together in his rack, Laura’s bald head resting on his chest. She shouldn’t have made him promise. Why did she have to?

His legs trembled when he turned away from her, opened the door of the raptor.

“I’ll be back shortly,” he promised her, his voice hoarse from crying. Although, why he bothered with talking aloud, he didn’t know. She couldn’t hear him any longer.

Passing her lifeless body, he searched for a while until he had found what he had been looking for – a shovel. Everything inside of him longed to beat something to a pulp, to drown his sorrows in alcohol, to drink as much that he wouldn’t remember anything any longer. Nothing, not even here. But he could do neither the one nor the other. Not now, not again.

On his way out, he stopped in front of her, his hands curled into tight fists lest he could try to shake her awake. Pressing the gentlest of kisses onto her forehead, he hopped out of the raptor.

It was tedious work, took him hours with barely a pause in between. The sun was beginning to sink low on the horizon when the hole in the ground was deep enough to house his love, his live, his heart.

It was time, time to let go, but he didn’t feel he was ready for it, that he’d ever be ready for it. Getting inside again, his tears had begun to flow anew. Noisy sobs were wrenched from his lips, but no one could hear him, no one cared. He lifted her out of her seat with infinite care, his arms shaking when he felt how dead, how limp her body was. All body, no spirit. It was her, it wasn’t. Still he was careful, as careful as a torn and battered man could be. Standing in front of the grave, he was reluctant to proceed, his tears falling onto her pale cheeks. But he had to, couldn’t hold her forever. He wanted to. If he put in there, he would never see her again, never feel her again. Then all he had left would be his memories. Although it wouldn’t change a thing; a Laura who couldn’t laugh, smile, cry wasn’t real. This all wasn’t real.

He lowered her to the ground, got into the hole before he pressed her to his chest one last time. Bedding her on the cold unforgiving ground, he knew it wouldn’t do. He couldn't let her lie on the cold earth, stones poking her back. Yes, she didn’t feel it, didn’t feel a thing, but he couldn’t. Simply couldn’t. He took up the blanket that still lay on the ground beside the grave, the one that had fallen from her shoulders a minute ago, and placed it under her, knowing how ridiculous a gesture it really was. He leaned down to her, took a deep breath before he kissed her forehead, her lips, the tip of her nose one more time. Then he got out of there, looked down at her. Only now did he see that her wig sat slightly askew. This was wrong. This all was wrong. Laura, his Laura. Dead. Gone. No, this wouldn’t do. Getting in with her one last time, he righted her wig, knew she would want it that way.  
“I don’t want to let go of you,” he said when the first shovel of dirt hit her body.

“You are my life,” he said with the next.

Each shovel was accentuated with some truth, some endearment, some confession. His heart was being ripped apart, but he didn’t falter, although he died a little more inside with each bit of dirt raining down on her beautiful face until he couldn’t see her again. When he was done, he didn’t pause, looked for stones to put on top. Where he took the strength from, he didn’t know. It was dark, he could hardly see a thing under a pale moon, but he didn’t rest. Only when the morning came and he was done, he collapsed beside the grave, lay beside the grave one hand on his aching heart, one on the cold stones.

He had died last night, but was doomed to live on, bound to a promise that would make sure he’d be paying for his every sin with living as a shell until death saw it fit to release him from this life.

“Miss you,” he whispered hoarsely, but no one answered him, not even the wind.

\- fin -


End file.
